"Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement that benefits us both."
More crashes from downstairs. The shouting was getting louder.
Aleksandrovich leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to vibrate through my chest. "Time to decide. O'Rourke's hospitality or mine?"
I looked up into his eyes, searching for some hint of what "his hospitality" might entail. What I saw there wasn't kindness, exactly, but there was calculation, interest, and something wild lurking just beneath the surface.
I'd just traded one predator's jaws for another's. But at least this one seemed willing to negotiate.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin. "Let's talk. But just so you know, I'm a terrible houseguest."
The smile returned, slightly wider this time, revealing the edge of a canine tooth that seemed just a fraction too sharp.
"I'll keep that in mind," Nikolai Aleksandrovich replied. "Now, let's discuss why a young man who can make phones dance across desks has caught O'Rourke's attention, shall we?"
Chapter Two
~ Nicolai ~
I had noticed the door to my office was slightly ajar before I even rounded the corner. Not much, just enough to raise the hackles on the back of my neck and send a ripple of irritation down my spine. I never left my door open. Not even a fraction of an inch.
In my line of work, such carelessness tended to result in shortened life spans, and after a century of careful existence, I wasn't about to break my streak of survival over something as trivial as proper door etiquette.
Great.
Another Tuesday, another territorial violation.
My steps were deliberately silent as I approached—a century of practice had taught me the value of surprising intruders rather than announcing my presence with the thundering footfalls my size would normally produce. The thick carpet of my second-floor hallway absorbed what little sound my Italian leather shoes made.
I paused, drawing in a deep breath. My bear's senses, always simmering just beneath my human facade, cataloged the scents in the air. The usual smells of leather, paper, and the lingering notes of my cologne were there, but something else lingered—something unfamiliar, electric, and strangely...enticing.
That was unexpected.
Slowly, I pushed the door open wider, my eyes adjusting instantly to the ambient lighting of my office. Everything appeared to be in its precise place—the leather chairs positioned at perfect angles to my desk, the rare books lining the shelves, the crystal decanter of vodka that cost more than most people's monthly salary.
Yet something was different. Someone was here.
"What business do you have on my private floor?" I kept my voice low, controlled, letting it fill the room like smoke.
The silence that followed was telling—punctuated only by the faint sound of rapid breathing coming from beneath my desk.
Really? Under the desk? How delightfully cliché.
I moved around the heavy wooden piece of furniture with deliberate steps, my shadow falling across the hidden space beneath.
And there he was.
Young, blond, with the most striking green eyes I'd seen in decades—perhaps a century. He was pressed against the back panel, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Failing miserably, I might add.
My first instinct should have been anger. Territorial violations typically resulted in broken bones, at minimum. My bear should have been clawing at my insides, demanding retribution for this intrusion into our domain.
Instead, I felt something entirely different stir within me.
Well, this is a first.
My bear wants to cuddle, not maul.
